Again
by thewriteday
Summary: Brenda/Sharon romantic. Angsty. Brenda goes home. (Wrote a prequel for this called In the Cards.)


**Again**

A/N: Thank you to all those participating in the Month of Love for inspiring me to write for this pairing again (or at all - as you can see this account has been inactive). And thank you to Brenda/Sharon shippers in general for continuously pulling me back into this lovely ship.

* * *

_"It seems to me that in the orbit of our world you are the North Pole, I the South-so much in balance, in agreement-and yet... the whole world lies between." _― _Thomas Wolfe,_ _You Can't Go Home Again_

* * *

Sharon sinks into her couch. She sighs, she sips her wine, she runs through her email on her phone. She wishes Rusty were around to regale her with stories of his day. She loves hearing them. Loves the distraction, the animated quality he takes on when he tells her of the latest school gossip or the most recent outrage in class. He can talk a mile a minute at the start, his frustration or excitement spilling out in a rush. But by the end of his story (and after many of Sharon's leading questions), he speaks a little more slowly, more calmly. He starts to see his story from a new perspective.

He's gotten better at that lately. Considering her as sort-of a parent and something of a friend. She's starting to see the man he's going to become. Little glimpses of the one he already is. Not just because he had to grow up too quickly but because he's choosing to mature, to grow, to evolve and reach for things he'd never thought were within his grasp.

She wishes now that he was here to remind her of all of this instead of on a weekend retreat for school. He's testing theories and completing final science assignments in the wilderness (or close enough to it for high school students) and she's spinning her wheels usefully while she thinks of what she's supposed to say.

She re-checks the text messages on her phone and finds the one she's left unanswered. It's from Andy. And it's already sat on her phone for hours.

_I can't stop thinking about you,_ it says.

Which in itself is harmless. Not so committal. Intended to stir up some affection in her. It shouldn't be problematic for her to respond at all.

The problem is that the only effect it has on her is anxiety. She'd known it was a mistake to "see" a colleague, never mind her subordinate. Getting swept up in his attention was her fault, but she'd been too busy and too distracted to rebuff him. And besides, it _had_ been comforting to know she could turn not only a head but a heart too.

The _problem_ is that her heart hasn't followed suit. And after a few weeks of casual "seeing" each other – not to mention a few decades of knowing herself too well – she could satisfactorily say that the feelings he was having weren't going to develop on her side.

Which leaves her here: trying to find the proper words to break it to him gently that even though he's thinking of her, she is _not_ constantly thinking of him. Or at least not the way he's inferring.

As she's staring at her phone deciding, it buzzes in her hand, nearly sending her ass a foot off the couch.

_Sharon?_

It's exactly what she's been dreading. She assumes he's begun to notice her withdraw little by little, avoid more often than not. And now she can't avoid what she needs to say any longer. She takes a deep breath, a long sip of wine, and she dials his number.

"Hi Andy. Yes I saw it. Thank you. Listen, could we meet after work tomorrow?"

She waits for his affirmative.

"No, not for dinner. I was thinking of the little café on the corner." She pauses. "Great, see you tomorrow."

She hangs up and hangs her head back against the couch. She could hear it in his hesitation: the little negative space that says, "I can see the end from here."

She's let it go on too long, really. But she gives herself a little leeway. In recovering from the fallout of one failed relationship – Jack is finally on his way out of her everyday – she may not have been prone to Andy's advances.

But recovering from _two_…

It's hard to call what she and Brenda had a _real_ relationship since it was always carried out behind a veil of deceit. Nevertheless, it had felt more real, more sincere, and more exciting than anything she'd had since her early teenage romances.

Someone else might chalk that up to the "thrill" of carrying on behind Frtiz's back. Sharon knows it was not that. The affair kept her from sleeping soundly for months. Trying to have what she couldn't keep had amounted to torture. And keeping Fritz in the dark… she felt like she'd given up part of her own, personal code just to be with Brenda.

And where had it left her?

Carrying on with a man she considered only a friend and colleague. Entertaining wistful daydreams of flying to D.C. and swooping in for Brenda like some Arthurian knight. She tries to imagine Brenda struggling to pull herself into a saddle, hoping it will make her laugh. Instead she can imagine Brenda – the strong, Southern woman she is – does it successfully. Which leaves her not laughing but loathing her own stupid brain for being so helplessly vindictive.

Finally, Sharon lifts herself sorely off of the couch. She takes her wine glass – now empty – to the sink and leaves it, her energy sapped from mental exhaustion alone.

She drags herself to bed and plays some music to distract her thoughts. It doesn't work so well, but at least at least it provides a soundtrack.

* * *

The science trip is at an end and Rusty is home where he belongs. Where, Sharon thinks, he even _feels_ he belongs these days. Sure, there are disagreements and the odd outburst. But nothing so odd that it's unfamiliar from what her other kids went through. And nothing has been insurmountable, in no small part due to his willingness to try.

They've enjoyed an evening that's so homey - dinner, Scrabble, and even a conversation about his future plans - that Sharon hears Rusty employ exaggerated retching sounds as he describes it to his friend over the phone.

She tosses a glare his way and he sticks out his tongue good-humoredly, informing his friend that he's "being monitored" as he retires to his room. Sharon returns to tidying the kitchen, all the while grinning to herself at the tiny exchange.

As she scrubs dishes, she replays her meeting with Andy at the coffee shop. He'd been a little morose all day, clearly anticipating the conversation they were soon to have. But when it came to saying the words, Sharon realized they'd come easier than she expected. It was more of a relief than anything. And Andy had admitted that he'd begun to notice her reluctance. All in all, it hadn't gone so badly.

For the first time in a while, she feels like she's getting back on track with things. Like a few more variables are within her control and lining up neatly.

* * *

A few hours later, she's in bed reading a book DDA Hobbs leant her: _Lady Oracle_ by Margaret Atwood. It's late and she really should be asleep by now, but she's too sucked-in. Sharon chuckles as she explores the misadventures of the central character who runs from her problems. _Not so unfamiliar, _she thinks. Her mind drifts to a boisterous blonde with one-too-many escape plans.

She hears a sound from outside of her room - a light thumping that echoes in the dead-quiet condo. She's had enough late-night knocks at her front door to recognize the sound. But Jack's knocks are usually less apologetic, more brash and thunderous than this one. She doesn't move until she hears it come again, a fraction louder this time. She doubts the sound will rouse Rusty, but she rushes out of her room anyway, yanking her robe from a hook on her door and tying it on the way.

She lines her eye up with the peephole at the door and her breathing stops. She swallows. She puts her hands in her pockets. She does not open the door. Not until she hears a small voice speak from the other side.

"Sharon?"

Sharon doesn't move except to press her lips into a thin line. She forces herself to breathe properly for a moment, taking her time.

When she opens the door, no one is on the other side and she panics. She steps out into the hall just in time to see Brenda's suitcase disappearing into the elevator. The doors slide closed

"Brenda!" she calls down the hallway. She hopes not loudly enough to wake the neighbours.

The elevator doors open again and the suitcase rolls back out, Brenda behind it, as if she's the one being pulled along instead of the other way around. She looks scared. Sharon can't imagine why, or somewhat spitefully doesn't want to imagine; Brenda wasn't the one who was tossed aside last time around. Sharon should be having flashbacks so painful as to have stopped her from opening the door at all.

But as she looks at the former Chief, standing stock-still in the hallway as if she hasn't realized this is all really happening, the spite slips away. Perhaps it is only temporary. Forgiveness brought on by unexpected reunion. Either way, Sharon feels happy. Albeit, confused.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at me, or would you like to come in?"

Brenda stirs from her stupor and moves towards the door; Sharon has never seen her move so meekly. It frightens her so, that before Brenda can move through the doorway, Sharon stops her with a hug. There is the sound of a suitcase hitting the ground and then two arms gratefully return the embrace.

Sharon lets herself revel in it, feeling the woman's body warm her, feeling it fit into hers so naturally. She lets herself have this in case, in a few minutes, Brenda tells her this is only a prolonged goodbye. That would be nice, in it's own way, since they never really had one. At least when Brenda leaves this time, she'll have this to remember her by.

"I missed y' s'much." Brenda mumbles into her shoulder. Sharon gives her a final squeeze before she stands back, her hands on Brenda's shoulders.

"Should I make us some tea?"

"No, no. I shouldn't keep you up. I'm pretty tired anyway."

"If you think you'll rest easy right away, that's fine. But I know I'm not going to fall asleep again for at least an hour."

Brenda searches the ground with her eyes as if there's an answer there.

"Tea would be nice."

* * *

They sit at the kitchen table. Brenda worries her thumb over her mug handle; she chews her lip; she looks at the table or the ground, but not at Sharon.

Sharon sits still, sips casually at her tea, and watches Brenda intently, waiting for the first word that never comes. Instead, she goes first.

"I hate to pull teeth, but I prefer, even less, sitting here in silence."

Brenda meets her eyes and smiles weakly. "Maybe I need a few teeth pulled."

Sharon lifts her mug and feigns deep consideration. "Considering your excuse for a diet, that wouldn't be too surprising."

She's hoping for a laugh, a chuckle, a half-hearted scoff. But she elicits none of these. So she takes another route. Sharon sets her mug down on the table, leans forward, and takes Brenda's empty hand in hers.

"Tell me what happened."

"Is that an order, Cap'n?" Brenda says it lightly, but Sharon pushes. Carefully.

"Yes. I think I'm owed some kind of explanation, don't you?"

Brenda nods, squeezes Sharon's hands and lets them go. She leans back in her chair and sighs. It's a few seconds still before the words come.

"I told him. Alm'st everythin'. I told him I'd been havin' an affair before we moved; I told him I hated D.C.; I told him I hated the new job, the new people." She pauses for a moment. She shakes her head and lets out a puff of air. "I thought a city full of wannabe celebrities was bad. But a city full of politicians is so much worse. Even the ones'at aren't in politics still talk and manipulate like they are."

Sharon waits for her to finish her thought before she leads her in the right direction. "And what did he say?"

Brenda drops her head and looks at her hands.

"He asked me if I loved you."

Sharon's mouth hangs open slightly but she doesn't speak.

Brenda looks up at her. "I didn't even _tell_ him it was you, he just... _knew_ somehow. Like he knew all that time and was only jus' tellin' me. And then he asked me that question."

"Brenda-"

"I told him _yes_, Sharon. I told him I love you, and I meant it. I just wish I'd said it to you first."

Sharon is silent. It is her turn to avoid Brenda's eyes, to fidget. The words that slipped so casually out of Brenda's mouth sting strangely, like a cut after the shock wears off. Some place she hadn't felt was wounded, suddenly exposed.

Sharon stands, her arms folded in front of her like armor. She moves into the kitchen. She's not sure what she meant to do once she was there, but she knows she needs distance. She stands in the middle of the floor. Lost. Brenda hasn't even turned from her place at the table to watch her go.

"It's... it's okay if you don't feel that way," Brenda's voice is shaky. "I just had to come back, come _home_. And this is the first place in a long time I really felt like I belonged."

"Your team misses you." Sharon says, barely registering Brenda's words, reacting stonily.

Brenda finally turns in her seat to look at her. "I don't just mean LA or the department. I mean _here. _With you."

Sharon nods but says nothing, staring at the kitchen counter. She focuses on a speck of sauce hardened to the granite. She reaches for the sponge in the sink and begins scrubbing it away, intently set on the task, ignoring the presence at her kitchen table.

"I know what I did, what I've done, it's just awful. But can you please tell me what you're thinkin'?"

Sharon stops scrubbing. She stares at the spot where the sauce stain was. She thinks she can see a tiny speck of it still clinging on despite her efforts.

"I'm wondering, if I let you back in, how long will it take for you to say those words to me?"

Brenda blinks. "...That I love you? I thought I jus' did."

Sharon shakes her head. "How long will it take for you to tell me you love somebody _else_?"

The words are out of her mouth before she can consider the regret that will come after. Right now she only wants to lash out. Because the problem with Brenda is that she does whatever she wants. It's what's good about her too, but more often that not, it means she leaves behind a path of broken things and a long list of "unintended" consequences she has no intention of dealing with. In more charitable times, Sharon believes the blonde does this because she herself has been left behind. Brenda has been the broken one before, the one left with the consequences.

But not this time. This time it's Sharon who had to collect what was left. And now Fritz. And Sharon wonders if Brenda remembers how it feels to be left behind, or whether she's pushed the feeling so far away that all she remembers is how to leave.

When she looks at Brenda after a long minute of silence from them both, she can see she's crying. The regret crashes in.

Of course Brenda doesn't forget being broken. No one ever forgets.

Sharon is across the room in a second. She takes Brenda's face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Brenda. I'm just scared. Terrified, actually."

Brenda leans her face into one of Sharon's palms. Her words tumble out. "I know, I'm so sorry, I never should have left. I hate that I abandoned you and that I never gave you an explantation or even came to see you before-"

Sharon kisses her quiet. Both sets of lips deliver the same feeling: _relief_.

Brenda's arms reach up and wrap around Sharon's hips. Sharon kisses her sweetly, solidly, _soundly_, before she stands back up straight, staring down at the woman who has changed her life, her rules, and her every supposition.

She brushes hair from Brenda's forehead.

"I love you Brenda Leigh. I have for a long time."

She knows that now that she's said it, she's all-in. There isn't an option to fold out of this hand. It's the only one she ever wants to play. And if she loses, she knows she'll never play again.

But Brenda is a prize worth betting on. She's the only one Sharon ever wants to wake up to and she knows more than ever that no one else has stood a chance since the day they met.

Sharon thinks she knew, even then, how much she would grow to adore the Chief. That single spark never faded. And with a little work, she'd make sure it never would. Maybe not everything is in her control - it never is - but she can control what she does. And in this moment, she chooses to trust.


End file.
